Tidbits from the road
As I look out on Lake Erie from my hotel room in Cleveland, the sun is shining and the weather is simply lovely. I’m here getting ready for SABR38, the annual convention of the Society for American Baseball Research. Before coming here, though, I made a side trip to the Big Apple.
Why travel from Seattle to Cleveland via New York? It’s simple, really, if you’re a baseball fan. Although I’ve seen major league games in dozens of ballparks, my distaste for the damn Yankees is so immense that I had never set foot in The House That Ruth Built. However, upon realizing that 2008 is the final year for Yankee Stadium—both New York clubs will open new ballparks in 2009—I decided I had to get past my antipathy for pinstripes that aren’t red.
Through some SABR contacts (thanks, Paul and Bob!), I was fortunate to be offered a pair of very fine box seats for Sunday’s game—field level near thirdbase. My cousin Susan, a Mets season ticket holder and fan of the long-departed Brooklyn Dodgers, joined me at the Stadium. As a confirmed National League adherent, she confided that it was only the second game she’d ever attended at Yankee Stadium.
“The line for Monument Park is closed for the day.”
That, sadly, is pretty much the first thing I heard at Yankee Stadium. Although the D line subway got me to the ballpark two hours before gametime, the security line (TSA-like in its thoroughness) was so slow that I wasn’t able to get inside the park in time to visit the shrines. Maybe a good thing, though, as I might have been tempted toward vandalism on some of those self-righteous plaques. The game was interrupted by a rain delay of nearly an hour. We tried to get to the Stadium Club to escape the weather, but for some reason the security forces barred the way for most of the delay. We did eventually get in long enough to order a brew before the game restarted.
Adding Yankee Stadium to my MLB ballpark lifelist rounds out the count to a nice even 40. That number won’t be augmented here at the convention, as I’ve previously seen about three or four games at Progressive (nee Jacobs) Field.
Oh, I should also mention that when I walked into the Columbus Circle subway station to go to Yankee Stadium, I ran into two of my SABR pals! I already knew they were planning to go to that same game—one of the two was doing the same sort of first-and-last visit that I was—but it seems rather odd and amazing that we’d independently end up buying Metrocards in the very same line in the very same subway station at the very same time. Chaos theory, indeed!
Leaving Newark Airport yesterday afternoon, my plane sat at the gate for nearly an hour beyond its scheduled departure time. No particular explanation, of course. Then there was more delay in the takeoff line ... in this case, the captain informed us that a small plane that was supposed to be landing at another nearby airport was “wandering around lost” somewhere in Newark’s airspace. Hmmm, was anyone thinking about shooting it down?
This morning, I made my first trip to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Though I’ve visited Cleveland on several occasions in the past, I’d never before had an extra day available. Now that I’ve seen both the R&RHOF and Seattle’s Paul Allen’s Experience Music Project, I have to say that there’s no comparison between the two. EMP sucks, and not only because of its hideous building. The Hall of Fame was tasteful, thematically sound, and had very little of the silliness of EMP.
One exhibit took me aback just a little bit. Amidst the displays of soul music greats was a small section on Jackie Wilson. You may not know the name, but I suspect this will sound familiar:
On September 29, 1975, Wilson suffered a heart attack while performing at the Latin Casino in Cherry Hill NJ. Although he was resuscitated, Jackie Wilson had suffered severe brain damage due to the extended time it took to do so. He remained in a vegetative state until his death nearly a decade later.
Among the items on Wilson were two “get well” telegrams (one from Redd Foxx, the other from Elvis) addressed to him at Cherry Hill Medical Center. What struck me about all this is that my father was a physician at that institution. He was on call that night, and participated in Jackie Wilson’s initial care. Seeing the phrase “Cherry Hill Medical Center”, then, brought out that memory from somewhere in the crevices of my mind.
I’ll be here in Cleveland through Sunday, so maybe it’ll seem like home soon.
Comments
If you run into Bob Timmermann of The Griddle, say hello. He’s a fairly high mucky-muck at the LA County Public Library as well as a smart guy and frequent commenter at the Dodgers blogs.
Hey, Linky, I’ll be sure to do that. I know Bob pretty well, and I know he’s registered for the convention.
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